Food For Thought

Mrs Rimmer had no idea why her son's boyfriend had requested grated onion on his cornflakes. And as for the milkshake... putrid. It seemed, to her at least, that he had the dietary requirements of a pregnant goat. She considered his sexuality, and concluded that he was probably used to swallowing far worse. Howard slunk into the room and sat down for breakfast. "Howard? When did you get in last night? I never even heard you." Howard stuffed a mouthful of porridge into his gob and politely pointed at his mouth, indicating why he was silent.

"Well, hurry up and swallow. Arnold, what are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, mother. Just a sudden case of immature thoughts," Rimmer cackled from the doorway. "Good morning, Howie."

"Morning, Mrs Rim," Lister said, bounding past Rimmer to his meal. "Brill! Just how I like it. Delia Smith's got nothing on you, Mrs Rim. Past the ketchup, Arnie." Rimmer threw the bottle at him, smiling at Howard, who still hadn't managed to get the porridge down. He was giving Rimmer one of those looks that could not only kill, but evaporate the body and soul entirely. "Where are John and Frank?"

"They've been grounded for their naughtiness last night."

"Mother, John is 40-years-old. You can't ground him!"

"Oh can't I? It's all I can do now that you boys are too big to put over my knee."

"Not if Uncle Frank's website is to be believed," Rimmer murmured.

"If those two aren't careful they'll lose their share of the inheritance. Your father's given you yours hasn't he, Howard? Arnold?" They both nodded. Mrs Rimmer went off to give the condemned brothers their food, leaving the Boys From the Dwarf and Howard alone. His porridge finally made it's way down his oesophagus. "What are you looking at?" Lister shrugged at him, nibbling at a slice of toast. "Well, you're both looking at something."

"We're looking at something in your hair, which looks suspiciously like-"

"WHAT!" Howard leapt up, grapping his head.

"Man, I can't believe you fell for that one," Lister chortled, aiming a hi-five at Rimmer. "Nice one, babe."

"Well, it was your joke, old love."

"I can't believe you told Dave! There's no point in you keeping this secret if you're just going to tease me. God I preferred you miserable and alone, Arnold. I wish we had done something to you, Dave. You're a bad influence on him. I can't wait for the day you two break up."

"I'm a smegging great influence on Arnie. He was like a Chihuahua on Speed when he first got here - all jumpy and scared. Now he's as relaxed as a kitten on a cushy chair."

Howard looked over at Rimmer and with an air of triumph stated that he looked about as relaxed as a gothic in New Look. Lister poked him in the arm. "Yo, Arnie? Rimmer? You all right?" He stared ahead, nodding his head slowly. "What's wrong wi' yer?"

"Arnold dear, you've buttered that scone three times," Mrs Rimmer sighed, coming back with the sullen John and Frank. "They've been let out for good behaviour," she explained.

"By that she means we didn't throw up on the carpet."

"Not on the carpet, no. Actually, John I think I should warn you: don't put on your Fedora." Frank shrugged sheepishly at him. Rimmer put down his utterly buttered scone and shoved them aside as he ran out of the room. They all looked expectantly at his boyfriend. Lister exhaled angrily, glanced at his crunchy cereal longingly, and trudged out of the room and up the stairs, his mind in a flurry of confusion at Rimmer's actions and from his own post-drunkenness.

Howard was right, and Rimmer couldn't believe it. Since he had met Lister, he had brought him nothing but trouble and abuse. And yet, Lister had been better for him in the few days he had known him, than nearly thirty years of trouble and abuse from his own family. He was agitated by everything he did, but felt kind of safe. Lister would never let anything really bad happen to him. Not on purpose at least. Somehow, when it seemed Lister was leading him into a bad situation, he wriggled them out of it. It was pure bloody luck. Luck and smarminess. Luck and smarminess and the sheer gall to be knocking on Rimmer's bedroom door when he was deep in thought. "Go away, Lister."

"What's wrong? We're supposed to be fighting on the landing by now. The shuttle leaves in a couple of hours. Security always takes ages, especially as I look dodgy. You're not leaving much of a window for it."

"Fine, come in." Lister wedged through the doorway and around the chest. "You know my breakfast is going soggy don't you?" Silence. "I can't stand soggy flakes." More silence. "Summit wrong?"

"What would you say if, and I'm just throwing this idea into the air, I wanted to not break up." Lister looked at him sideways, and his reply has been edited to keep this a T-rated story. "Calm down, I don't mean we should actually go out with each other, idiot. It's just that I don't want to be alone - er, I mean I don't want them to think I'm alone again. No one will know, just my family."

"Oh yeah Rimmer, just your family. And everyone at the bingo where Mrs Rim goes, and in the Space Corps. where your brothers all work and at the cricket pitch where your father streaks. Hardly anyone at all!"

"I don't want anyone on the Red Dwarf to find out either. You think I like this lie? Well I don't Lister, but this is the first time I've ever been accepted by them. I don't know why. I don't know if they wanted me to be, or expected me to be gay but they're finally being civil around me. I haven't had my pants yanked up my arse by John even once this weekend."

"He's probably afraid you'd enjoy it," smirked Lister, though Rimmer failed to see the funny side. Lister had no idea what to think. Pretend to go out with a bloke? Pretend to go out with Rimmer? What if he met a really great girl on the Dwarf with a pinball smile? He could hardly say, "Oh actually, I forgot that it's my anniversary tonight. My bunkmate and I have been acting gay for a year now. How time flies when you're in space cleaning soup machines!" But then he looked at that 'whippet on a RSPCA advert' face and felt he couldn't say no. But what else could he say? "Rimmer, I'd love to help you out. But how long d'ya expect to keep this up for?"

"Just until I find a girlfriend. Or until my parents die. Whichever comes first."

"You should tell the truth, Rimmer."

"This was your idea!"

"I said to lie for the weekend only!"

"You know what?" Rimmer snapped. "You're right. We'll break up as planned. Now mother can go around saying 'What man would be daft enough to go out with Arnold!'." Rimmer stormed out. Lister looked at Mr Rimmer's camphor-wood chest for a moment and marched out after him.

"What are you all doing?"

"Sssh!" Mrs Rimmer shushed her husband as she pressed against the living room door beneath her sons, desperately trying to catch the heated argument in the hallway. "Arnold and David are fighting."

"Who?"

"Arnold, our youngest son, and his lover David."

"Who?"

"For smeg's sake dad!" Frank snapped, pushing Howard and John out of the way to get a better listen. John wheeled Mr Rimmer over to their gathering. "You remember Arnie, don't you? The slimy one."

"Oh God, him... Wait, he's gay? Since when?" Mr Rimmer fondled his moustache trying to take this new information in. "Bloody hell - what will he use the chest I gave him for? I can't bear to think about the sordid objects he would keep in there!"

"Well, nothing of Dave's from the sound of it. I think they're breaking up," John said. Mr Rimmer gave them all a blank look. "Who's breaking up?" Patiently, Howard moved Mr Rimmer back to the other side of the room and deposited him into a chair where he sat and waved his beer bottle in frustration. "Thank you dear," said Mrs Rimmer, "perhaps now we can hear what's going on." She pushed open the door slightly.

"What's going on, mum?" Frank asked, not really wanting to know the answer. It had gone awfully silent. She clicked her tongue. "Well..."

"What?"

"They're..."